For Praetor and Empire
by LornaWinters
Summary: The things I do for my Empire…The life and times of a Romulan spy. A series of one-shots.
1. Chapter 1

**Thanks to 0afan0 for the title suggestion!**

_There's a man who leads a life of danger  
To everyone he meets he stays a stranger  
With every move he makes_

_Another chance he takes  
Odds are he won't live to see tomorrow  
_

It was a dark and stormy night in Havana. A tropical gale was blowing through—the weather control system must have been in need of repair. That happened every so often.

The bartender watched the palm trees blowing in the wind outside. It didn't appear that many people would be visiting El Club de Diego Velázquez that evening. A few of the regulars were there, of course. Nothing would stop them. Two men in particular were deep in discussion at the bar a few feet away from him.

"Just apologize, even if you don't know what you did," one advised the other, "And pray she has mercy on you, man."

Human women had to be the most fickle and insatiable women in the galaxy, the bartender often thought. Oh, they were attractive enough—and they found him attractive, almost without exception. Apparently, Vulcans were all the rage as far as human ladies were concerned. A typical nightly scenario went something like this: A woman would come in and sit at the bar. Soren (that was what he said his name was) would serve her a drink.

"You're cute," she would say to him with a wink, "especially your ears."

And he would return with something along the lines of, "You're rather easy on the eyes yourself."

The woman would lean over the bar towards him. "Would you like to come home with me later?" she would whisper.

As tempting a prospect it was, he would never take her up on it—that was the surest way to blow his cover. For all he knew, those women were Starfleet Intelligence agents sent to flush him out.

_Beware of pretty faces that you find  
A pretty face can hide an evil mind  
Oh, be careful what you say _

_Or you'll give yourself away  
Odds are you won't live to see tomorrow_

His real name was Setal. He was a Romulan secret agent gathering information. Posing as a Vulcan who didn't agree with Surak's restrictive teachings and the unreasonable expectations of his people, he had gotten a job as a bartender at the picturesque and historical nightclub in Cuba. San Francisco was naturally too conspicuous. And besides, El Club was considered to be a hidden gem, where several prominent Starfleet admirals went to "get away."

The admiral Setal was most interested in was Hajime Fujisaki, the Deputy Chief of Starfleet Intelligence. He was a frequent visitor, and had come to enjoy his talks with his favorite barkeep.

During their frequent discussions, the Romulan had learned much about the vice admiral: the cologne he used, his favorite song, his allergies, health problems, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. Setal had no idea what would be done with the information, he just passed it on. His job was to gather the materials for the think tanks, and that was all.

The weather would most likely deter Fujisaki from coming to the establishment that evening. Setal listened to the music instead, going over the steps from his dance lessons in his mind. He found that he liked dancing a great deal. If questioned about it, he had the legitimate excuse that he was just trying to blend in. It was all in the service of the Empire.

Setal looked up from slicing limes when he noticed the revolving door move. To his surprise, the man in question was walking toward him. He smiled. "Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in," he greeted him. "Good evening, Hajime." The fellow may have been a high-ranking official, but there, he wanted to be treated like an ordinary civilian. "You look like the wet rat I killed this morning," he joked.

Fujisake chuckled, and then shrugged. "I feel like a wet rat, Soren," he confessed, his smile turning up side down.

"Soren"/Setal narrowed his eyes and tilted his head in bewilderment. "Oh?" he subtly prodded. "What's plaguing you?"

The admiral sighed. "What plagues us all," he said, "Women!" He practically spat the word out.

Setal sliced through the air with his hand. "Say no more," he answered, though he really meant the opposite. And he knew he'd get exactly that. He set a glass on the counter and poured a drink. Fujisake didn't have to order what he wanted. Setal already knew. "Women are a curse," he agreed. "I know exactly how you feel."

"You do?" the human asked, somewhat surprised. "They seem to like you well enough."

The bartender shook his head firmly. "I've sworn them off, Hajime," he insisted. "My wife divorced me for some Betazoid gigolo. Whoever thinks Vulcans aren't emotional is a fool. And no offense, but from what I've seen around here, human women aren't any different."

"None taken. I've often wondered why you always turn down the women who try to pick you up," Fujisaki mused.

"Well, I'm never going to get burned again," Setal vowed. "Your drink is on the house, by the way."

"Really?" the admiral's expression brightened.

"Really," the other repeated. "After all, it's my job to listen to you, but today you've done me the favor."

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it. We males have to band together during times like these."

As Setal predicted, Fujisaki then proceeded to tell him all about the sordid details of his deteriorating marriage. The Romulan absorbed the facts, down to the last minutia. His next report was going to be the most interesting to date.

* * *

_Secret agent man  
Secret agent man  
They've given you a number  
and taken away your name  
_

The following Tuesday, Setal sat on the beach. He sipped a Jamaican lager as the waves lapped at his bare feet. The weather control system had long ago been repaired, and it was a bright, sunny day. It was his day off from working at the club, but he wasn't really "off." Every Tuesday, he sent his report to Romulus via a "piggyback" transmission wave.

He had already completed his report, and it was ready to be sent. But first, he wanted to relax for a few minutes. _The things I do for the Empire_, he thought as he reclined backwards onto the sand. As assignments went, this one wasn't half bad. In fact, it was more like a luxurious vacation.

This was the perfect "Earth" moment, he realized. The salty sea air, the pleasant breeze blowing in one's face. The only thing that could have made it better would be if he had an Earth woman at his side. He smiled at the thought. Human ladies were unpredictable, it was true. But they nevertheless fascinated him. He especially liked it that they seemed to be more docile than Romulan women.

"Not on this assignment," he firmly reminded himself. It was far too dangerous, considering the nature of his mission. Besides, he had been indoctrinated from infancy that it was best for him to stick with his own kind anyway.

Setal quickly stood up and ended his reverie. He finished his drink and went back inside his shanty apartment to send off his report to Chairman Koval.

_Swingin' on the Riviera, one day_  
_ And then layin' in the Bombay alley next day_  
_ Oh no, you let the wrong words slip_

_While kissing persuasive lips_  
_ The odds are you won't live to see tomorrow_

* * *

**Yeah, this is the kind of stuff that comes to me when I can't sleep… But hey, I was so excited about writing it that I sprung right out of bed this morning!  
**

**No, I don't own Johnny Rivers' Secret Agent Man. The song just gave me the idea for the story.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Ok, so this was _supposed_ to be a one-shot, but then I got some more ideas. My muse is whimsical and capricious like that…**

**Thank you to all my readers, especially 0afan0, Fameanon, and JustACrazy-Man!**

* * *

_There's a man who leads a life of danger  
To everyone he meets he stays a stranger  
With every move he makes_

_Another chance he takes  
Odds are he won't live to see tomorrow  
_

El Club de Diego Velázquez was jumping with activity that evening. The music and dancers were in full swing. The bar was packed. It was a typical Friday night in Havana. People had gotten off of work and were ready to start the weekend with a bang.

Setal's workday was only beginning, however. In the rush of drink orders, he was the embodiment of calm. People, especially high-ranking Starfleet officials, didn't go there to see their bartenders running around like chickens with their heads cut off. They wanted a happy, relaxed atmosphere, a break from the stress and worry at Starfleet Command.

He flashed a grin as he gave Vice Admiral Fujisaki and Admiral Paris their drinks. The two men thanked him and continued their conversation—probably about Fujisaki's estranged wife. It was an unwritten rule that there was very little shop talk among Starfleet officers at El Club. Every now and then, though, Setal would get lucky and overhear something. There were even times when they would outright tell him directly. Fujisaki was especially guilty of this breach of protocol.

Tonight, there would be few tidbits to pick up, if any. It was far too noisy and crowded. Most of Setal's data was gathered during the less-hectic spells, when his clients were not so busy living it up as though there were no tomorrow.

In reality, he was enjoying this assignment. Humans fascinated him. And he couldn't have picked a better vantage point from which to observe them. The next best way to study them, he had recently discovered, was on the dance floor. Alas, he and the rest of the staff were too swamped for him to dance that evening. On quieter nights, he occasionally had the opportunity to practice what he learned from his lessons. The owner strongly believed it was good for the atmosphere to keep the party going when business was slower. But not tonight.

He poured the jigger into the shaker. When he looked up, he saw a drop-dead gorgeous lady walked up and sat at the bar. She had curly red hair cut just beneath her chin and was wearing hoop earrings. Her mini skirt and calf-length boots showed off her fine legs. He could smell her perfume—it cut right through the thick wisps of smoke all around.

Setal realized after the fact that he had done a double take at her. Immediately, he raised his defenses back up. Oh, he knew her type: a femme fatale if ever he saw one.

_Beware of pretty faces that you find  
A pretty face can hide an evil mind  
Oh, be careful what you say _

_You'll give yourself away  
Odds are you won't live to see tomorrow_

"What'll it be, Miss?" he asked as he shook the drink mixer he was holding.

"I'll have an old-fashioned," she answered flirtatiously.

The husky man next to her put his hand down on the bar. "Put it on my tab," he said.

The woman refused, but he insisted adamantly. After about the fourth time she turned him down, the guy huffed off to one of the tables.

She rolled her eyes in annoyance. "Men are such animals. No offense," she added in the bartender's direction.

"None taken." Setal was used to hearing things like that on a daily basis. He grinned as he handed her the drink. "That is often the truth."

The woman blinked in surprise. "Aren't you…?"

"A Vulcan? Yes," he lied, "I don't exactly fit in on my world. Forgive me, but I've told this story many, many times." He smiled again. "As you can imagine, I'm here on Earth for a reason."

She giggled girlishly. "You got a name to go along with those cute ears?"

Setal couldn't help but chuckle at the complement. "Yes," he answered, "Soren."

"Well, Soren, I'm Sirina," she said with a wink. She had been aptly named, assuming that was her real name. "What do you say we meet up after you get off?"

"A most tempting prospect, but I have to decline," he said politely.

"What's wrong, don't you like girls, Soren?" Damn, the agents sent by Starfleet Intelligence were getting good. This one really was a siren.

He laughed again lowly. "Of course I like girls," he told her, "But at the moment I'm recovering from a divorce."

"So you have a story, too," she said, intrigued. But, to his surprise, she accepted his explanation, and didn't prod any further. "When you get over her," she slipped a card with her number on it over to him, "give me a call."

"I just might," he said, half-truthfully. He shook his head regretfully as he watched her walk away. He tossed the paper into the trash to remove the prospect of any future temptation. The shreds floated slowly down into the wastebasket. _ The things I do for the Empire…_

A voice called to him from the other side of the bar. "Hey, Soren!" Setal turned. It was Fujisaki, and he was two sheets to the wind. A blonde bombshell was sitting in his lap. He held his hands up expectantly. "You turned down another one? When are you going to get over her and move on, eh?" _He_ apparently was "moving on."

Setal waved him away and got back to work mixing and pouring various beverages.

"He won't admit it," the admiral told his friends audibly, "but he has a thing for Earth girls. Some day one's gonna make him an offer he can't refuse!" He exploded into drunken laughter along with the rest of his party.

_Perhaps_, thought Setal, _but not any of the Earth girls who come here…_ It wasn't so bad, though, he told himself. Sirina wasn't the type of woman he was looking for anyway. He wanted a respectable lady, he had decided, not a tramp who picked up countless men at bars. And when this assignment was over, he would find a respectable job, so that the kind of woman he wanted—an honest woman—would find him more appealing.

Until then, it would be passing out the poison and watching his back every second for the entire foreseeable future.

_Secret agent man  
Secret agent man  
They've given you a number  
and taken away your name_

* * *

**For those of you who don't already know, Setal's story continues in "Two to Tango."**


	3. Chapter 3

**Ok, this looks like it's turning into a longer story. Not sure where or how far it's going, but I'm enjoying the ride and writing it as it comes! The "Secret Agent Man" song seems to be perpetually stuck in my head, so that probably has a lot to do with it!**

**Thanks to 0afan0, thyme2read, Fameanon, and JustACrazy-Man for your reviews!**

* * *

_Swingin' on the Riviera, one day  
And then layin' in the Bombay alley next day  
Oh no, you let the wrong words slip _

_While kissing persuasive lips  
The odds are you won't live to see tomorrow_

It was a Tuesday night. Normally, that was Setal's "day off," but one of his co-workers had gotten sick and called in. His report to Koval was just going to have to wait another week. But delays such as these were to be expected from time to time in his line of work. There wasn't much to report that week anyway.

Tuesdays were always slow. The clientele, having recovered from the Monday blahs, were back into their work routines and therefore feeling too responsible to darken the doors of El Club. Setal wondered why the owner even kept the place open on that day. Not that he was complaining, because today he would likely have the chance to dance with some pretty ladies. He was getting to be quite accomplished in his rumba lessons, and was eager to test his abilities.

Now, if only a lovely dance partner would show up soon… _Well, well, well_, he thought, just as one such woman came through the door. She had on high heels and a fringe-trimmed skirt. Her hair was pulled back in a chignon at the nape of her neck. To a bartender's trained eye, it was obvious that she had come to dance.

_Thank you so very much for calling in sick, Carlos_, Setal thought with glee.

Following the typical traffic pattern, she came up to the bar and ordered a drink. She had a thick French accent to go along with her plunging neckline.

"A mojito, coming right up," he said flirtatiously. He had never before met a French girl. In the words of so many of his customers: she was smokin' hot!

"So what is a Vulcan like you doing in a place like this?" Seldom did a night go by when he wasn't asked a question along those lines. But this time, he didn't mind at all. Her alluring accent made his tapered ears tingle.

Naturally, he was automatically suspicious, but he kept an open mind. "Waiting around to dance with a lady like you," he answered, raising a brow.

Her face lit up with pleasure. "How did you know I came to dance?"

Setal laughed. "I'm a bartender; I know everything."

"And you are modest, too," she winked. "Do you rumba, Mr...?"

"Soren," he said. "Yes, I can do _all_ dances, in fact," he informed her confidently. "When you finish your drink, I'll show you—if you are so inclined to honor me, of course."

The woman giggled as she sipped through her straw. "I am inclined. My name is Celeste," she introduced herself.

"A lovely name," he remarked as he sliced the citrus fruits behind the counter. He made a point of paying attention to his task so that he wouldn't cut himself.

When she finished, he took her hand and led her over to the dance floor. The light from the chandelier prisms splashed colorful rays all over the room as they danced.

"You are a talented dancer, Soren," she said as she stroked the back of his neck with her fingernails. Shivers went down his spine.

"Thank you," he said boyishly, "You are, too."

"You know, the way you smile all the time, you're so cute," she said as he turned her under his arm. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were a Romulan."

Setal felt his heart stop. Of course she was a good dancer. She was too good, he realized. And far too attractive to be innocent.

But he laughed it off. "Sometimes I wish I were," he said smoothly, "It would certainly make things easier on me. Vulcans are not as tolerant as they claim to be."

"I can only imagine, mon cher," she said, blinking her long eyelashes with understanding sympathy. That did it. She was definitely a femme fatale. As exciting as it felt to flirt with danger, he had his mission to consider.

He was about to make the excuse that he had to go back to work when a powerful-looking man yelled at him from the doorway.

"Hey, you pointy-eared freak!" he pointed furiously, "Take your hands off my wife!" He wore a Starfleet uniform, but otherwise had the appearance of a person he had once heard described as a "hick."

Setal dropped his partner's hand. _Oh…_

"Merde!" Celeste swore in alarm. "Blake! What are you doing here?"

Blake grabbed Celeste's arm and forcefully pulled her away. "If you ever go near her again," he threatened Setal, "you're gonna look like a jigsaw puzzle with a couple of pieces gone after I'm done with you!"

* * *

There was a pleasant, gentle rain falling outside when Setal left El Club to go home. What a night! He had heard the complaints of countless individuals about their bad days at work. Now, for the first time, he would honestly say that he knew exactly what they meant. He was just glad it was over. To top off the dancing fiasco, the uncertainty as to whether or not his cover had been blown loomed over him.

He didn't get the chance to ponder his lot for long, however. A gang of thugs appeared at the entrance of the alleyway. Their leader was none other than the man who called himself Blake. Setal's superior Romulan strength would have enabled him to easily take down one or two. But there were six of them.

"Where ya goin' pretty boy?" Blake taunted. "Think you're some kinda ladies' man, do ya?" His ruffians laughed, no doubt in anticipation of the beating they were going to give his supposed rival. "Get him!"

The goons attempted to seize Setal, but he managed to take down two of them. Unfortunately, there were too many. Before long, he was overpowered.

"You think you're so smart?" Blake ground out. "Well I happen to work for Starfleet Intelligence. What do you think about that?"

Setal thought he was in big trouble. So, he had been discovered after all. And his interrogator had a grudge against him, too. Things were looking bleak. But he had trained for situations like this. They weren't going to get a shred of information out of him.

"Yeah, I really know how to put the hurtin' on," continued Blake, packing punches with his fist into his other hand. "Get ready, boys! Papa's gonna open up a can o' whip ass!"

"Wait, wait!" called Celeste. She ran over to the hapless bartender. "I'm so sorry, Soren. It would have been wonderful, mon cher," she said with tears gleaming in her eyes. Setal remained silent. Celeste rapturously pressed her lips to his. "That's how we say goodbye in France," she told him sweetly.

Celeste was quickly pulled away. Setal soon realized with dismay that she had only made matters worse for him. Her husband was inches from flying into a rage.

Blake threw Celeste toward the direction of the street. "Go clean the house, baby," he said, "I'll be there soon."

The frightened woman sprinted off without another word. A part of Setal felt sorry that she was involved with such a cruel man. But on the other hand, she had chosen that life. And it was because of her that he would likely be dead before the sun rose again.

Blake overshadowed him. The smell of alcohol reeked from his mouth. "And _this_ is how we say goodbye in Starfleet!" He proceeded to give Setal a sound beating.

As the blows were dealt to him, Setal thought about the fact that Blake was drunk. This wasn't an interrogation, he realized, only the vendetta of a possessive husband. _Only?_ he thought wryly. Though it was clearly the end for him, at least his true purpose hadn't been discovered.

"I'm gonna _kill_ you, boy!" the human roared.

_For praetor and empire_, Setal reminded himself. And then his vision went black.

* * *

"Soren! Are you ok? Soren!"

Setal soon perceived that it was Hajime Fujisaki who was shaking him, trying to rouse him back to consciousness.

"Hajime," he responded weakly. His eyesight slowly focused. It was daylight—that much he could tell. One of his eyes was so bruised he couldn't see out of it at all. He understood, with a great deal of relief, that he was still in the alley and not in captivity. All things considered, he should be grateful to be alive.

What happened?" Fujisaki asked him excitedly.

Setal tried to chuckle, but it came out as a cough instead. "I danced with the wife of a jealous redneck. Only I didn't know she was married."

"Let's get you to the hospital," the admiral started to say.

"No," said Setal, probably a little too eagerly. "I have a med kit in my home. I can handle it."

Fujisaki blinked. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," he insisted. "I hate doctors."

"Okay, okay," Fujisaki said defensively. Then he laughed. "Now I'm starting to think you were wise to swear off women."


End file.
